


180°

by ghostboi



Series: Not What It Seems [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aggressive Dean, Angry Dean, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bondage, Cruel Dean, Dean to the Rescue, Dean vs. Dean, Dirty Talk, Don't Judge Me, Drugged Sam, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Mind Games, Porn with Potential Plot, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shapeshifter, Sorry Not Sorry, Top Dean, wincest?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes life does a complete 180°. Or the one where the boys are fighting, Sam gets 'roofied' at a bar, and Dean's reaction is quite unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	180°

**Author's Note:**

> Set around seasons 3/4 (or somewhere along that time frame).
> 
> This popped into my head a bit randomly. Something to fill the time as I re-write the latest chapter of 'Take Out The Gunman' (because my computer glitched and lost the last chapter I had written. grr).
> 
> Uh.. sorry? & this has potentially triggery stuff.

He wasn’t certain how it happened. He wasn’t certain how things went from point A to point F (for ‘fucked’) but they did, and quite abruptly. He was tied to a bed, he was stripped of his clothing, and his brother was staring at him with a look that he could only call terrifying.

When had life done this complete 180 and how?

 

They had been on the road for forever before catching a case that seemed worth investigating. It wasn’t uncommon for them to get on one another’s nerves a bit after long weeks of constant traveling: hell, they were in one another’s space almost 24 hours a day. 

They had found this case – a ghoul posing as her formerly living self and killing off her former neighborhood – and had finished it. It hadn’t been easy, it never was, but it was done and they were sitting now at the bar of some local dive. 

Dean had been acting a little off for several days. Easily aggravated, short with him. It wasn’t completely unusual because they _had_ been traveling almost non-stop for several weeks, and Sam gave as good as he got. Still –

He didn’t like fighting with his brother. They got on one another’s nerves, sure, but they were partners-in-crime (literally, in some instances) in this messed up life of theirs, and they were always together. It made everything tense between them when they fought. There was also the fact that he still sort of looked up to Dean, and it hurt him somewhere deep within when his brother wouldn’t speak to him or shot him those looks that expressed his annoyance.

It was awkward when they fought like this, it was tense, and sometimes it was a little lonely.

He tried to shake off his maudlin thoughts as he sipped his third beer. His eyes flicked to Dean – the older man was smiling down at some curvy brunette standing next to him – then shifted away. He was studying a collection of license plates nailed onto a nearby wall when a voice at his elbow greeted,

“Hey. This seat taken?”

Sam glanced over and found a cowboy standing beside him. He nearly snorted at the thought but restrained himself, before shaking his head no.

The man, dressed in a plaid button down, a pair of snug jeans, cowboy boots and a worn cowboy hat, took the stool next to him. “Thanks,” the man shot him a smile, “It’s a little crowded down at the other end, but I didn’t wanna impose if this seat was for someone else.”

“Na, you’re good,” Sam returned the smile with one of his own. Cowboy ordered a beer from the bartender who approached, and Sam turned his focus back to his own beer. His gaze shifted to his brother – Dean raised his eyes suddenly from the brunette to glance at him. The man stared at him for several seconds before his attention went back to the woman next to him, and Sam’s own attention was caught by the Cowboy asking him, “Wouldn’t happen to know anyplace a man could get good steak tomorrow, would you? I’m not from around here, and I’ve been wanting a good steak for days now.”

He chatted with the Cowboy for a few minutes – the man was entertaining, at least. When he raised his eyes to look for Dean again, his brother and the brunette were gone. He rolled his eyes and picked his beer up to take a drink: at least their motel was close in case his brother was gone for the night and he had to walk back to their shared room.

He wasn’t certain how many beers he had as he chatted with the cowboy. They ended up on the subject of books and talked for a while about their favorites; it was almost 2 a.m. when they exited the bar. He hadn’t seen Dean in the past few hours and figured he would walk back to the room. The cowboy (whose name had been shared but he had forgotten) caught his arm as he stumbled slightly. He frowned, running a hand through his hair and blinking. His vision was blurring and his head was starting to feel odd. 

“Alright there?” 

He glanced over and saw the concern on the other man’s face. Sam nodded, “Yeah, guess I had a few more than I realized. ’m fine.” 

“Need help back to your room?”

He shook his head no, declining the offer, “It’s close, I’ll be alright.” Sam’s gaze returned to the other man as the cowboy grinned and invited, 

“You’re welcome to come back to mine with me.”

He stared at the other man for several seconds, eyes traveling down the length of him. Cowboy shot him a smirk and tugged his arm – he followed as the man led him around the side of the building, out of view of both the parking lot and the road that ran by the bar.

A minute later he was pushed back against the brick wall and hands were tugging at the button of his jeans. Sam blinked, surprised, and caught the other man’s wrists, halting him. He swallowed as Cowboy leaned close and breathed in his ear, “Let me suck you off.” The man tugged a hand free and reached down to squeeze him – he didn’t protest when the other went to work on his jeans again.

He laid his head back against the wall behind him, closing his eyes for a moment, as his vision swam. What the hell was wrong with him? Had he really had that much to drink? He drew a sharp breath as hands pulled him free from his jeans and stroked him several times: a moment later, the cowboy was on his knees in front of him, swallowing down his half-hard dick. 

 

Sam slitted open his eyes as he felt movement next to him. It was dark, he couldn’t focus, and his head was pounding. He tried to sit up – where the hell was he? – and heard a familiar voice at his ear,

“Easy, Sammy. I got you. You’re fine, go back to sleep.”

Dean.  
Sam relaxed again, eyes closing, and went back to sleep. 

 

Sunlight was streaming through a window the next time he cracked his eyes open. Sam tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes but found he couldn’t. He blinked and glanced over, bewildered, and discovered that his right hand was tied to a corner of the headboard. 

Well. That was certainly a wake-up call. The realization seemed to kickstart his aching brain and he became somewhat more alert. A quick self-assessment told him that he was tied to the bed on which he was lying. His wrists and ankles were all restrained. He glanced down as a second realization hit him: he was completely naked.

“What the hell?”

He started as he heard, 

“Shouldn’t accept drinks from strangers, Sam.”

Dean was sitting in a chair near the bed, cleaning one of his guns. Sam stared for a moment, blinking against his still-slightly-blurred vision. The other man was efficient, breaking down the weapon and cleaning it thoroughly before putting it back together. 

“Why the hell ‘m I tied to the bed, Dean?”

Dean raised his green gaze to look at him, and Sam fell silent. His brother stared at him, features hard, mouth a tight line. The look in his brother’s eyes was – well, he wasn’t certain what it was, but he was unexpectedly unnerved by it. Dean’s eyes shifted down the length of him, slowly, before returning to his face. Sam mentally amended his earlier thought: The look in his brother’s eyes was terrifying. He wasn’t certain why, but it was, and he wanted off this bed, in his clothes and maybe even out of this room.

“Un – untie me, Dean,” he couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice, and Dean’s expression seemed to darken, “Why am I tied up? What the hell is going on?”

He watched, a little apprehensive, as Dean stood and moved to the other bed. The man placed the gun he had been cleaning on the bed beside his duffle bag before turning to face him.

“You went and got yourself roofied last night,” his brother told him as he moved to stand next to the bed. “Found you with your pants around your ankles and some cowboy getting ready to fuck you. After I took a few minutes to teach him some manners, I brought you back here.”

Sam swallowed hard, trying to remember. He couldn’t recall anything past the point of exiting the bar with the man in the cowboy hat right after they had finished one last beer. 

“Why – “ he swallowed again, throat dry suddenly, “Why am I tied to the bed, Dean? What the hell is going on?” He tugged at the ropes, found them secure, and insisted, “Untie me!”

His eyes followed Dean as the man moved to the head of the bed, watched as his brother tugged on the rope that held his wrist against the headboard. 

“Figured since you were stupid enough to get yourself into the situation you did – and I know I raised you better than that - “ The words hurt, and Sam inwardly cringed, “- I would let you see what might have happened if I hadn’t come back for your ass.”

“Okay,” Sam shifted against the ropes, skin flushing in humiliation as the words sunk in and Dean’s eyes roamed the length of him again, “I see. I get it. I was stupid, I fucked up. Untie me.”

“Don’t think I’m going to do that just yet.”

Sam froze as Dean’s fingers brushed down his arm, from his tied wrist down to his elbow.

“Dean –“

“Shut up,” the other man turned a hard gaze to him, anger glinting in his eyes, and Sam couldn’t help but obey. He was humiliated, embarrassed, and was starting to feel a little helpless. What the hell kind of lesson was this? He understood that he fucked up, but to be stripped naked and tied to a bed? 

“Where are my clothes?”

“Corner someplace,” came the response, “You kept saying you were too hot and wouldn’t leave ‘em on.”

He started in surprise as Dean’s fingers brushed down his cheek. He was about to speak but his words died in his throat as his gaze met the older man’s. Dean’s gaze was somehow threatening, almost derisive, and traced with something Sam couldn’t quite place. Some little voice in his head screamed ‘oh fuck he’s gone crazy’, but he ignored it, tried to ignore his pounding brain and building panic. 

“Dean, please,” he hadn’t realized he was speaking the words in an almost-whisper until they were out. A sneer touched his brother’s features and the man asked, anger tracing his voice,  
“Is that what you said to that fucker behind the bar? Please? Please what, Sam? Please stop or please fuck you? Looked like it was the latter you wanted, if you ask me.”

He tried to draw back but hadn’t anyplace to go as his brother leaned over him to growl in his face, “Maybe you were willing, huh? Maybe you wanted some fuckin nobody to fuck you behind a goddamn bar like the whore you are.”

Sam swallowed, shook his head no without realizing it. “I – I didn’t – I’m not – “

“Shut up.”

He fell silent instantly, fear threading through him. What the hell was going on here? What was wrong with Dean?

“Cristo.”

The whispered word brought a chuckle from the older Winchester.  
“Not possessed, Sam.”  
Dean tugged off the plaid button-down he was wearing over his black t-shirt and tossed it to the other bed before running a hand through his hair.  
“Do you do shit like that to spite me? You’re pissed because we’ve been fighting so that’s how you get back at me?”

“Do – do what?” He bit his lip, feeling suddenly like a small child who had done some terrible thing, when Dean’s green gaze shifted to him. The man scowled at him and took a step toward the bed before halting. Sam swallowed, half-afraid that the man was going to approach the bed and – and what? He didn’t know, and he was slightly ashamed of himself for the brief thought that Dean would harm him. He was confused, though: everything about this situation was far out of the norm. Sure, he had been tied up before (and usually by people who wanted to shoot him in the head or use him as bait), but not by his brother. 

“Picking up men in bars,” Dean finally spoke, practically spitting the words at him, “Letting them drug you and drag out to God-knows-where to do God-knows-what to you.”

“I didn’t let him..” 

“You do this often, Sam? Is this what you do when you hit bars on your own? Whore yourself out?” 

“Fuck you, Dean!” Sam shot back, angry now at the harsh and unfair accusations, “You’re the one who picks up people in bars..”

His words were cut off as Dean strode suddenly to the bed and backhanded him. Sam blinked in surprise and turned a stunned gaze to his brother, cheek stinging from the blow.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam pulled hard at the ropes, ignoring the burn as they chafed his skin, “What the hell is wrong with you? Let me up, damnit!” 

The younger Winchester tried to draw away, startled, as the older man moved onto the bed with him, straddling him, a knee on either side of his waist. He blinked up at his brother, perplexed, to find Dean smirking down at him. He tugged at the ropes again, desperate to get free.  
“Be still.”  
Dean’s voice was rough, commanding enough to cause him to do exactly that and be still. 

Though he would never speak it aloud, and tried like hell to keep hidden in the very deepest corners of his mind, he had imagined this very scenario once or twice. Except the look on Dean’s face, in his version, had been far different from this angry version above him now. Sam swallowed and shoved the thoughts away almost before they began: now wasn’t the time for them, by any means. He had to figure out what was wrong with his brother, and he had to get out of these ropes and out of this room.

Sam blinked and raised his hazel gaze to Dean as the older man lightly slapped his cheek. “Pay attention, Sam,” the other’s voice was hard, harsh, “What do you think would have happened if that bastard who roofied you managed to get you back to his room? Huh? Think he would have offered you a cup of tea before sending you on your way? I don’t think so.”

The younger Winchester shifted against the ropes again as Dean’s fingers scaled down his cheek and neck, to his chest. “Let me up, Dean,” he hated the plea he could hear in his voice, hated that he was unable to free himself. 

“Not yet,” Dean sat back, his full weight on Sam’s hips, an odd smile playing at his mouth, “Told you that this is a lesson.”

“What the hell kind of lesson?” he snapped back, patience running thin as fear welled in the pit of his stomach, “I fucked up, I get it! Get off me and let me up!”

“Shut your mouth.”

The words were a growl and they immediately silenced him. Sam drew in a sharp, shocked breath as Dean leaned forward and caught hold of his left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it. His eyes fell to Dean’s hand as the other traced a thumb lightly around his nipple. He stared dumbly for a moment, trying to process what was happening. Dean’s fingers closed on the sensitive nub again, and Sam winced as a jolt of pain-pleasure shot through him, even as his hips bucked upward. He could feel himself flushing in humiliation as a smirk touched his brother’s mouth. 

“What do you think that fucking cowboy of yours would have done, Sam?” Dean’s hand slid across his chest so his fingers could toy with his other nipple, pinching and rubbing, “He would have tied you up and fucked the hell out of you. Might have played with you a little first, like this – “ Strong fingers tugged hard as his nipple, and his hips bucked upward again, mouth falling open.

“Stop,” Sam’s voice was ragged, “What’re you doing? Get off me, Dean.” 

“Make me, Sam,” challenge in the smirking retort, “Make me get off you. Show me how you would have escaped when that fucker from the bar had you tied up like this. You can’t.”

He hated himself for the involuntary shivers that ran through him as Dean scratched his fingernails down his stomach. A startled gasp escaped him as the other man suddenly ground down against his now-half-hard dick (and wasn’t that even more humiliating?).

“Your cowboy would have had you in this same position,”  
Dean leaned down to breath the words in his ear, and another shiver raced through him. The man ground down against him again, rubbing his ass against Sam’s hardening dick, and he whispered,  
“Dean, please stop.” 

His brother straightened up to look at him: a moment later, Sam’s cheek was stinging from the backhand his brother gave him. 

“Shut up, bitch.”

Dean shifted down to sit on his thighs, trailing hands down his chest and stomach as he did. Sam tried to pull away as those hands moved lower; a soft gasp of surprise tore from his mouth as his brother grasped his cock in one strong hand. 

“See now, this is what happens when you get yourself drugged up. How you gonna get out of it, Sam? Huh? Show me.” Fingers stroked his cock, and a low moan tore from Sam’s throat as he arched into the touch.

Dean chuckled again, a dark sound, and reached out to grab his face with his free hand. Sam tried to jerk away, but the other forced him to raise his chin and look at him. “Look at you,” the older man’s tone was mocking now, “Not even trying. You would have let that son-of-a-bitch cowboy do whatever he wanted to you, fuckin’ slut.” 

Sam shook his head no, tried to pull his face free from Dean’s grip. A sob of humiliation escaped his throat as the other man stroked him again, began a steady rhythm. He tried to fight his body’s reaction but it felt good, in spite of the fear and humiliation flooding him, and he arched again into the touch. Dean released his face and shifted his attention to Sam’s cock, stroking with one hand and reaching down to grasp his balls with the other. Dean squeezed lightly and he moaned, eyes tight shut, fucking up into his brother’s fist. 

“Damn, Sam.” There was an unexpected note of appreciation in Dean’s voice, “So fuckin’ responsive.” 

Sam opened his eyes, startled, as fingers suddenly pressed against his mouth. His brother was leaning forward, eyes on his face and fingers against his mouth. “Suck,” it was a command, one which he tried to ignore. Dean gave his cock a particularly hard stroke, twisting slightly at the end, and Sam’s mouth fell open in a gasp. He whimpered as his brother shoved three fingers in his mouth and repeated, “Suck ‘em. Now.”

Sam obeyed his brother’s order and began sucking on the man’s fingers. Dean’s growl of approval sent a shock of lust through him. He was humiliated, he was aroused, he was scared. He didn’t know what the hell was going on or why Dean was doing this to him. It frightened him, but that tiny, long-repressed part of him that had imagined similar things happening was awake now. Shame spread through him, mixing with all the other emotions, as he realized that some part of him was aroused by this, maybe even wanted _more_. 

He blinked up at Dean as the man pulled his fingers free from his mouth with a wet pop. He watched as Dean sat up again, resting on Sam’s spread thighs: a moment later, his brother’s wet fingers were slipping between his legs, behind his balls, exploring. Sam let out a sound that was very close to a yelp of surprise as the other’s fingertip slipped down further to trace over his hole. His eyes flew to his brother’s face, met Dean’s gaze. The other man was watching him as he began to rub Sam’s hole, tracing small circles, while still stroking his hard dick. He could read the lust in his big brother’s eyes, the possessiveness: it sent an unexpected shiver through him. He arched up into his brother’s hand again with a soft whimper as Dean traced a thumb over the head of his cock.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean’s voice was a low growl, gravelly with lust, “Fuckin’ want this, don’t you slut?” 

Sam opened his mouth to protest but his words were lost in a low moan as Dean’s thumb, which had been tracing circles around his hole, pressed into him. The invasion burned, yet fueled his own arousal. He wasn’t certain at this point if he wanted Dean to stop touching him or wanted more. He bit his lip, eyes closed, as Dean thrust that thumb into him, slid it out, thrust back in. When his brother pulled out to trace his rim again, he arched against the man’s hands, pressing down, silently begging for more. 

“Fuck yeah,” Dean complied, slid a finger into him while stroking him with his other hand, “So fuckin good, Sammy. Don’t worry, baby, I’m going to give you more. Show me how much you want it.” 

Sam obeyed, arching hard against his brother’s hands at Dean’s instruction. He couldn’t process the mix of emotions which were overwhelming him: arousal, fear, shame. Dean’s hands felt too good, stroking him and opening him up, and he was ashamed to realize he wanted more. A breathy “oh fuck,” escaped his throat as Dean slid a second finger into him; a moment later, the other man was laying on top of him, hands wrapped around Sam’s bound wrists and mouth catching his in a hard kiss. He opened for Dean as the other claimed his mouth with his tongue, and arched against him, trying to create friction for his aching cock. 

After several long moments of ravaging his mouth, Dean pulled back, slightly breathless.  
“My bitch, Sammy.” 

Then the man’s hand was wrapped around his cock again, two fingers pressing into his ass to scissor him open. The burn they created as they pressed inside him notched up his arousal, and he begged, “Dean, please, more..”

“Fuck,” Dean pulled back suddenly, climbed off the bed to strip himself of his shirt, jeans and briefs. He was hard, his cock jutting up against his stomach, and Sam couldn’t take his eyes off it. The older man climbed back onto the bed, then reached over to open the small drawer in the bedside stand. He pulled a knife from it, and Sam swallowed hard, eyes on the weapon. He watched as Dean shifted down the bed to cut his ankles free from their bonds: a moment later, the man slung the knife across the room, sticking it into the far wall. 

Sam moaned as his brother pulled his hips onto his lap, grabbing his dick and stroking it. “Gonna fuck that pretty ass,” the other man growled, “Show you who you belong to, you fuckin whore.” Dean grasped his own cock, stroked it several times, before guiding it to press against Sam’s hole. Sam whimpered in pain as his brother began to press into him, but the other didn’t stop. He continued to press forward until the head of his cock was inside before pausing for several moments. Sam had very little time to adjust before Dean pressed in deeper, practically forcing his way in, the friction creating an almost over-whelming burn.. Still, it felt good. The pain felt good, traced with pleasure, and he tried to press back against Dean to urge him deeper.

“Mine,” Dean growled, grasping his hips in an iron grip that would most likely leave bruises the following morning, “My whore. Don’t give a fuck how many cowboys fuck you, you’re mine.” He began thrusting harder, increasing his speed and grinding into him.

“Fuck!” the cry escaped Sam’s lips as his brother hit something inside him that sent shockwaves of pleasure through him. He heard the other’s chuckle and Dean drove in harder, hand jerking his cock. It was when Dean gave a particularly deep thrust and growled, “I own you,” in his ear that Sam cried out, “Yes, fuck, yours,” and began to cum. His entire body tensed, arching and clenching around Dean’s thrusting dick, as spurts of hot cum began to shoot over his and Dean’s stomachs. His brother let out a low growl and followed him over; Sam could feel the other man’s cum filling him.

When his brother had spent himself, Dean collapsed on top of him, catching his breath. Sam struggled to catch his own breath and to figure out what had just happened, eyes on the ceiling. He was a bit startled and tugged uselessly at the ropes holding his wrists when the other man pressed his mouth against the side of his neck and began lightly licking and sucking. Sam swallowed hard, eyes sliding closed, as his brother nipped at his throat and murmured against his skin,  
“Wanna mark you as mine. Let everyone know you belong to me.”  
Another gentle bite, harder than the first, drew a sharp breath from him.

“Dean –“ His voice was an uncertain whisper, eyes shifting to his brother, whose head was resting on his shoulder. Dean shot him a sated smile, raised a hand to brush a knuckle down his cheek.

“How long have you wanted me to fuck you, Sammy? Hmm?”

He averted his gaze at the question. The fingers tracing his cheekbone slid down to his neck; his brother’s hand wrapped lightly around his throat, fingers squeezing a bit.

“Answer me.”

“Untie me,” he whispered, avoiding the question, his mind still attempting to catch up with what had transgressed over the last little while. The husky chuckle at his ear sent a shiver through him, and the hand around his throat tightened a bit more. Dean shifted off him to lie beside him, half covering Sam’s body with his own.

“I think I might keep you tied up,” Dean nipped at Sam’s earlobe, tugging with his teeth, while sliding a leg between his thighs to press against his groin, “Fuck you whenever I want. Suck you off until you’re screaming to cum.” 

The words sent a shudder through him and his cock twitched: Dean chuckled again, mouth pressing against his jawline.

“Like that, Sammy? You wanna be my bitch? Hmm? My fucktoy?”

Sam gasped in pain as his brother’s teeth nipped along the side of his neck, hard enough to bruise. He cursed his traitorous body as his cock gave another twitch of interest: moments later, Dean’s hand was between his legs, fondling him. The older man ran fingers through the cooling cum on his stomach before sliding them back down over his cock. 

“Want me to fuck you again?” Lips moved down his throat and chest, to his nipple. Sam gasped as his brother’s teeth closed lightly around the sensitive nub; he arched into Dean’s hand, a low moan tearing from his throat, as his brother began to suck it. When he was done licking, sucking and biting on Sam’s nipple, Sam was breathless and Dean was smirking. 

Sam’s hazel gaze shifted to Dean as his brother laughed and squeezed his hardening cock. He blinked as the man’s smile suddenly vanished and Dean said, “Damn, Sam. You’re a fucking freak, aren’t you? Look at you. Wanting your own brother to fuck you. That’s messed up.”

The younger Winchester averted his gaze to stare at the far wall, confused and hurt and ashamed. What the hell was happening here?  
Even with his harsh words, Dean’s hand was still wrapped around his dick, stroking lightly and drawing uneven breaths from him. He flinched as his brother leaned in to lick a heated path up his throat and jawline; he flinched again when the man whispered in his ear, “Don’t you think this is a little sick? I know I’m hot, Sam, but I’m your fucking brother, man.”

“Why are you doing this?” the words were broken with a sob he couldn’t contain, and he closed his eyes against tears he didn’t even realize were there.  
“Doing what?” Dean’s hand slipped down to his balls and began to lightly massage them, “Giving you what you obviously and desperately want?” The man’s fingers slid lower, brushed his hole, which was slick with cum. Sam couldn’t stop the low whine that tore from him as the other man shoved two fingers inside him. 

“Look at you. Fucked you once and it wasn’t enough. You want my cock in your whore ass again, don’t you?” 

Another finger was added and Dean began to finger-fuck him, leaning down to catch Sam’s nipple between his teeth again. When he began to suck, Sam whimpered and arched back against the man’s fingers. Dean’s laugh was a rumble against his skin; the man released his nipple and raised his head to smirk at him,  
“Bet I could shove my whole fist inside you and you would just want more. Fucking greedy little bitch.”  
That note of appreciation was in Dean’s voice again as he added, “So fuckin’ tight. Damn.”

This was beyond fucked up, all of it. He wanted it to stop, yet at the same time, he wanted more. Wanted to feel his brother inside him again, wanted to belong to the other man.  
“S – stop,” Sam knew he was pleading, knew his voice was shaking and his body was pretty much Dean’s to use as he pleased. Still, he tugged at the ropes holding him to the headboard – the skin was raw at this point, chafed and painful – as he tried to free himself.

“Mm,” Dean crooked his fingers inside him and hit his prostate – Sam cried out at the flood of pleasure that wracked him, “No, I don’t think I will. I think I’ll fuck that pretty little ass again. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Fucking sick little bitch. You want your big brother to fuck you, don’t you? I know it’s what I want. Wanted this for a long fuckin time, Sam. Gonna fill you with my cock, baby boy, until you’re begging me to stop.” 

Sam tried to shake his head no, another sob escaping him, but Dean’s lips were on his, stealing his breath and tongue slipping in to lay claim to his mouth. He nodded yes at the other’s murmured question of “Want me, Sam? Want me to fuck you again?”, and the other nipped at his bottom lip. He whined in need against Dean’s mouth as his brother rubbed a fingertip over his prostate again, arched back against the man’s hand. The older man chuckled against his mouth and whispered against his lips,  
“Come for me, Sammy. Fucking whore. Come for me like a good little slut.”  
Dean shoved his fingers deep, nailing his prostate, and Sam cried out as he began to come, hard and sudden. Dean continued fucking him through it, murmuring a combination of obscenities and endearments in his ear.

Sam moaned, shudders running through him, when Dean went down suddenly on him, taking his dick into his hot mouth and sucking hard. The man squeezed his balls as he did, drawing another mini-orgasm from him and causing his vision to blacken around the edges. 

Sam was gasping for breath, exhausted, vision blurred, and eyes on the ceiling, when there was a loud crash. His brother’s mouth and hands disappeared from his body and he heard shouting. When he shifted his gaze to the source, he saw Dean, naked and locked in a struggle with.. Dean, fully clothed and holding a silver knife. He blinked, found that the scene remained the same, blinked again. 

What the fuck was going on here?

Naked Dean and fully-clothed Dean struggled for several minutes, throwing one another around the room. It was when fully-clothed Dean slashed out at naked Dean with the knife he held, slicing him across the chest, the fight ended. There was a hiss of pain from naked Dean as the man’s flesh began to burn visibly, and he stumbled. Fully-clothed Dean was on top of naked Dean in an instant, knocking him down and pinning him to the floor with his weight, knife pressed against his throat. 

“Dean!” Sam pulled hard at the ropes, sobbed when they held firm.

“The fuck did you do to him?!” clothed Dean demanded, pressing a knee against the other Dean’s sternum to hold him in place.  
“He loved it,” the pinned Dean gloated in obvious glee, “Begged me for it. Loved that his big brother was fucking his tight little whore ass..”

The words cut off with a soft gurgling sound as clothed Dean rammed the knife into the other’s throat. He jerked the knife free, sending a small spray of blood across his hands and shirt, before ramming the knife into the downed man’s chest, straight into his heart. 

Sam watched in fear and disbelief as the fully-clothed version of his brother jerked the blade free and stood, blood-covered knife in hand. The two were far enough from the bed that he could see the now-dead man lying on the floor, blood pouring out of him. His eyes shifted back to the standing version, whom was moving toward him.

Sam jerked away as the man approached the bed and reached for something above his head: moments later, the ropes were cut loose, freeing him from the headboard. He stared, wide-eyed, at the man standing over him. His eyes flicked back to the Dean on the floor, then this one in front of him.

“Sam,” the man in front of him breathed, eyes taking him in. He looked like Dean, he sounded like Dean.. Sam flinched as the man reached for him, tried to scoot away but his arms were numb from being bound for hours. 

The Dean in front of him swallowed hard, turned to cross to the other bed. Sam watched as he shoved the duffel off the bed – the gun that had been lying there hit the floor with a dull thud – before jerking the bed covering free. He turned and, after a moment’s hesitation, offered it to Sam. Sam reached for it with shaking hands, tried to pull it around him self. His entire body went rigid as the man in front of him tugged it free from his grip and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. 

“What the fuck is going on?” his voice was a whisper and held more than a little fear as he clutched the blanket around him.

Dean (was it Dean?) sat down on the other bed and studied him in silence for a long minute. He knew the man was assessing him, eyes scanning him for harm; the other man obviously didn’t like what he found, for he scowled and muttered a curse at the dead Dean on the floor. 

“Shapeshifter,” the man finally spoke. He ran a hand through his hair as he shot Sam a glance that was part concern, part regret, “He got the jump on me at that rest stop in Tucson – Don’t look at him, Sammy – and locked me in a damn janitor’s closet. By the time I woke up, got free of the ropes and got out, he was gone with you and the Impala.”

“How do I know you’re you?” Sam’s voice was barely above a whisper; he found that he was having difficulty looking at the other man. Dean didn’t hesitate: he wiped the blade of the knife he held on the sheet of the other bed, cleaning it of the shapeshifter’s blood, then ran the blade over his forearm. Sam watched a trickle of blood well to the surface and run down toward Dean’s wrist. Not a shapeshifter. 

Sam watched as Dean stood and began to pace, agitated.  
“I stole a car,” the older Winchester continued, “and tried to catch up. We had talked about that case with the ghoul so I headed in this direction. I was half a night behind, though, even running 90 all the way. Had to ditch the first car and jack a second when a cop caught sight of it outside a gas station, and that took time..”

Dean halted in front of him: Sam flinched back, an involuntary response, as his brother reached out toward him. He met his brother’s gaze for a brief second before looking down at the floor. 

“Sammy..” There was pain in Dean’s voice, regret, “I’m sorry..”

“Not your fault, Dean.”

“I shouldn’t have let him get the jump on me..”

“It’s not your fault, Dean,” Sam raised his eyes to meet Dean’s anguished green gaze, “You didn’t know he was a shapeshifter.” His brother’s odd behaviour of the last few days made sense, now: Dean hadn’t been Dean.  
“He – he hurt you,” there was a catch in his brother’s voice as Dean sat down on the other bed again, “He – Wearing my fucking face and he –“ The man dropped his head, fists clenched on his knees, “Fuck, Sam..”

“I’m fine,” Sam swallowed, dropped his eyes, “It’s – I’m fine.” He wasn’t quite certain if that was true, but it wasn’t his brother’s fault – not his real brother’s, at least - and he wasn’t going to let the man take the blame. He drew back, startled, as the other man moved suddenly to kneel in front of him. He managed to hold back a flinch as the other man reached out and gently took one of his wrists in his hands. It was red, rubbed raw by the ropes that had bound them. He denied the urge to pull free and move away from his brother as Dean’s eyes flicked from his wrist to his face. 

“Can – “ his brother must have seen his anxiety in his features, for there was hesitation in the other man’s voice, “Can I clean this up for you?”  
He swallowed and nodded yes, and Dean stood and moved to the duffel – Sam’s duffel - on the floor. He knelt and rifled through it, retrieving a first aid kid from its depths. 

Sam realized suddenly that, beneath the blanket he was holding around him, he was still nude. Still covered in cum, both his own and the shapeshifter’s. He flushed in shame and humiliation and stood quickly, the movement momentarily unbalancing him. Dean raised concerned eyes to him as he edged past the older man, head lowered. “Need.. need clothes,” he muttered, voice hoarse, as he held tight to the blanket. The other nodded and picked up the duffel bag, holding it out to him. Sam took it with a shaking hand before he retreated to the bathroom to get cleaned up. 

When Sam had finished a shower and exited the bathroom (more than an hour after entering, he was surprised to discover), the shapeshifter was gone, both beds had been stripped of their bed covers and had new ones replacing them, and Dean was sitting at a small table. Several containers of Chinese food, a six pack of beer, and a bottle of whiskey were sitting on the table. 

“Got some dinner,” his brother stated the obvious, “Let’s get those wrists bandaged and then we’ll eat. If you’re hungry.” 

He nodded and crossed to the table to seat himself in the other chair. He allowed the other man to bandage his wrists, and Dean made quick work of it, wrapping the bandages neatly and securely. He watched as his brother cleaned up the supplies and stashed the first aid kit. When Dean returned to the table, the other man picked up two bottles of beer and offered him one. Sam accepted it with a soft-spoken “thanks” and popped off the cap. 

Dinner wasn’t what one would term comfortable. They sat in silence for most of it with the room’s television on for background noise. Sam couldn’t eat, declined any food (thoughts of what had happened with the shapeshifter, the things the faux-Dean had said, had him feeling nauseous) and Dean picked at his own meal.

“Fuck, Sam,” Dean shoved away from the table suddenly – Sam couldn’t hide his flinch – and stood. The man ran a hand through his hair in agitation as he paced the small space between the room’s door and the table. “That – that fucking thing – and – and now you’re afraid of me, and – “

“I’m sorry,” his voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes on the floor. He bit his lip as his brother stopped his pacing to kneel in front of him.  
“No,” Dean raised a hand toward him, halted inches from his face before withdrawing it, “Sam, no. It’s not your fault. Don’t you fuckin’ dare apologize for what that thing did.”

Sam swallowed and raised his eyes to meet Dean’s. “I should have known he wasn’t you,” he whispered miserably, “I should have realized in the beginning.”  
“Sam,” Dean reached out to brush a fingertip against his cheek – it wasn’t until he felt the wetness on his skin that Sam realized he was crying, “Sammy. He was a shape-shifter. You know they pick up the way the people they’re mimicking act, know their behaviours and their thoughts.”  
Those words, meant as comfort, had him swallowing hard, more tears slipping down his cheeks. Dean froze, studying his features, brows furrowed.

“What did it say to you?”

Sam shook his head and brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, “Don’t wanna talk about it right now.” Or ever, preferably. “Can I – can I just—sleep for a while?”  
“Yeah,” Dean nodded, gently placed a hand on top of his to brush a thumb across the back of his hand, “Yeah. You need some rest.”

Sam nodded and stood: he froze as his eyes fell on the beds. He swallowed hard, throat making an audible click, as he stared at them. He heard his brother mutter a soft, “Shit, what am I thinking?” and he dropped his gaze, slightly ashamed of his behaviour. He wasn’t five years old. He fought with monsters, for fuck’s sake. He could handle this..

He glanced at Dean as the man began gathering up the food containers and beers, shoving them into a large plastic bag they had arrived in. The man crossed the room and snagged up Sam’s duffel, moved to grab up his boots off the floor near the door. He blinked as Dean nodded toward the room’s door and instructed gently, “C’mon. We’ll get a room some place else. Fuck this place.” 

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and nodded in agreement. He followed Dean out to the Impala and climbed in the passenger side while his brother stashed the food and duffel in the backseat. He watched from the front seat as Dean went back into the room, leaving the door wide open. The man moved through the room, gathering up anything left behind, before heading into the bathroom. Five minutes later, he was climbing behind the Impala’s wheel, tossing the stuff he had retrieved into the backseat.

Sam sighed softly, head resting against the passenger window, as his brother started the car and backed out of the parking spot. He shot a side glance at the other man: Dean shot him a slight smile before turning his eyes to the road in front of them.

They drove in silence for a while, the radio playing softly in the background. The dashboard lights cast a soft glow in the car’s interior and the headlights cut a swath through the darkness around them as they headed out of town. It was oddly comforting.

Dean’s voice was regretful when the man spoke a little later, “Whatever it said to you.. it wasn’t me. It – it was fucking with your head. You know that, right?”  
“I know,” he answered quietly, staring out the passenger window into the dark.  
He relaxed for the first time in hours as Dean assured gently, “You’re safe, Sam. ‘m not going to let anything else happen to you.”  
He nodded and whispered again, “I know,” before closing his eyes to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up chapter is here: [From Here To There](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4764917)


End file.
